


Wicked Games: Side Stories

by loveyou-x3000 (Severa)



Series: Wicked Games [2]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale, 半妖の夜叉姫 | Hanyou no Yashahime | Yashahime: Princess Half-Demon (Anime)
Genre: (sorry no InuParents OT3 in this one), Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blended family, Bondage, Control Kink, Dom/sub, Domestic, Drama, Dysfunctional Family, Exhibitionism, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Consent, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Office Sex, Platonic Throuple, Public Sex, Romance, Rope Bondage, Rough Sex, Smut, Whump, Wicked Games AU, art gallery, each chapter will have its own tags and warnings and pairings, this is a catch-all for all side stories that don't belong in WG's main plot, vanilla sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-04
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:33:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28543374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severa/pseuds/loveyou-x3000
Summary: A ongoing collection of side stories that belong in theWicked Gamesuniverse.Rated E for safety; individual chapter ratings will be included at the beginning of each chapter and in the title. Tags may update and change as more work gets added. Right now they reflect what Ithinkmight end up here.
Relationships: Inu no Taishou/Izayoi, Inu no Taishou/Sesshoumaru's Mother, Kagura/Sesshoumaru (InuYasha)
Series: Wicked Games [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026168
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	1. Tense [SessKagu - M]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: SessKagu  
> Rating: M  
> Archive Warnings: None  
> Story Guide: This story takes place during the events of [Wicked Games, Chapter 11](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703876/chapters/67806533). 
> 
> Find me on tumblr at [@loveyou-x3000](https://loveyou-x3000.tumblr.com) to follow more writing things and story updates. Come visit and ask me anything about these two idiots or this universe!

Sesshomaru was tense. 

Kagura knew him well enough to recognize it: the way he moved more stiffly, as though he’d been out in the snow for hours and his muscles had seized up, the cold spreading into his veins and voice, chilling his demeanor towards the world. In the past, such a display had been a forewarning, an ominous foreboding against the world that had offended him and any who dared cross his path— but these days, the danger there was more simmering than boiling. It was a survivable thing. The cruelty he’d carried in his youth had long since been left behind. 

But then again, Kagura considered, perhaps she was provided more leniance than others.

Whatever the case was, when her partner began to grow cold and impatient with the world, it fell to her to sort it out. His stress was a tell-tale sign that something was on his mind, and it would be better for them all if she was able to relieve him of it.

It made sense, she supposed. What with the mess with the Hyōnekozoku, both his father and his mother had left the country, and while Sesshomaru did not _need_ them in any fashion of the word, he had never been left entirely alone by them, either. That, with the possibility of war on the horizon, was a deadly combination. Even the eldest of the warlords had been put on edge at the prospect. This was a different world than the one they had fought in so many years ago, and the stakes were far higher. Humans weren’t as less-than as Sesshomaru and his lord father liked to think. Not in the ways of killing, anyway.

When he lay down for bed this night - three weeks into his parent’s absence, in which he’d assumed all of their local responsibilities - Kagura stepped out of the bathroom in only a short robe, loosely tied around her middle. The lights were already off. He’d lit a single unscented candle near the bedside for her to see by, as he always did when he turned in early. She didn’t need it, of course, but the thought was touching nevertheless.

Kagura knelt down beside him, gently touching his shoulder to see if he was still awake. Lying face-down on the futon, arms folded under the pillow beneath this striped cheek, Sesshomaru barely stirred. Even now, he felt tense. 

“Hn?”

A grunt in question, acknowledgement that he was at least conscious. Distantly, she pitied him. But she knew he wouldn’t appreciate that. 

So instead of talking, she smoothed her hand over his shoulder and kissed the tip of his ear, leaving the candle burning as she moved herself over him. With ease she put her bent legs on either side of his hips, holding herself up with a single hand splayed over his spine. She could have easily sat back on the curve of his lower back, but she hovered over him instead, feeling slightly silly and self-conscious about the barness between her legs.

When he started to move she pressed down on him, holding him in place. 

“Relax.”

He pinned her with a glance over his shoulder, eyes open now. But Kagura ignored him, sweeping all her hair over one shoulder to manage it.

Slowly, he eased back down into his pillow as she leaned forward and began to work her hands over his shoulders, massaging away the stress he’d been carrying there. It wasn’t the first time she’d done this, not by far— nor would it be the last. It was among the few things that she could do for him that no one else could, or ever had. She was the only one he cared to be so intimate with.

It was an old process, and an easy one. He carried all his stress in his shoulders, well built from centuries of carrying armor and furs, shaped masterfully by swordplay. She pressed her thumbs along the ridges of them, feeling the cool expanse of his skin beneath her fingers as she tried to work away the metaphorical frost that had fallen into his muscles and bones. He was always cool to the touch, except for in the rare moments he wasn’t— when his yoki flared or when his blood roared in his veins, and that was only ever a good thing when he was buried deep inside her. 

He melted, as he always did, and Kagura kept to her task, deciding to work lower than normal as she chased knots under his skin. For ten minutes she committed herself to the body beneath her, shifting on her knees and feeling his strength thrumming beneath her hands, his skin growing warmer the longer she worked. Her thoughts wandered, of course. It would be impossible to keep them from straying. She loved the sight of him when he was like this, pliable and quiet and relaxed, unbothered by the world and solely focused on her. When she was focused only on him.

He stretched subtly beneath her hands, leaning lax into the futon. She sighed.

_Stupid, stubborn man…_

The air told her that he was still awake. Kagura was the wind; and to be the wind, she had to know the air, purposefully attuning herself to every subtle shift in the atmosphere. She knew the pace of his breathing and the occasional, miniscule movements of his body. The way his yoki steadily cracked against her palms, buzzing across his skin. Right now he was awake, but he was slipping. His breathing was leveling out, all his tension uncoiling.

Kagura shimmied further down his body, resting back in the hollow of his spine and the swell of his buttocks as she soothed the middle muscles banded around his ribcage. The long magenta stripes that curved over his hips started here, a beautiful brushstroke that swept down and around his sides and to glide down over his hips and disappear in points above his groin. 

Perhaps another five minutes passed before she reached them. He was nearly asleep — actually asleep, which was such a rarity for him, slipping out of his comfortable doze into a darker realm where he could rest. Kagura couldn’t help but feel proud of herself. He needed to rest more than he’d admit.

But then her palms slid lower, her thumbs working against the lowest curves of his ribs until they brushed over magenta. She moved her hands inwards, breasts pinned between her arms in a thoughtlessly seductive pose as she set to massage his spine, where the two stripes pointed and nearly met. She pressed her thumbs there, leaning heavily against their edges and—

Sesshomaru groaned in a voice that was not his own.

She froze. Still pressed down on him, still leaning, she hovered in mid-air, shocked still by the sound. He must’ve been too; half her work was undone when he tensed up, wildly awake now.

“It’s all right,” she tried to convince him, “Just relax, Sesshomaru. Don’t—”

“Enough, Kagura.”

She moved to lean in harder, but it was a losing battle. In an instant he shifted and rolled to sweep her off his back, onto the futon with a dull thud and a gust of air. There was only a brief second where she was alone before Sesshomaru moved over her, suddenly domineering in his presence as his silver hair spilled down around her. 

“Sessh—”

He silenced her with a searing kiss, lips crashing down onto hers with no other purpose than to steal the words out of her mouth. A sharp emotion flared wildly in her chest; a yearning, first, then the familiar need pooling in her bones, but the frustration that came after was sharper. He was so impossible. He couldn’t even let her have _one_ vulnerable, _honest fucking_ moment before he tried to erase it with sex. 

When his hand went to part her robes, something inside her snapped.

“Sesshomaru!”

His lips met her cheek, her chin, and her neck, and then she slammed her palm under his jaw, shoving him away sharply. 

Anyone else would have been mortified by the silence that followed, but Kagura was not anyone.

Sesshomaru reached up to touch where her hand had been, wide eyed and shocked, acting as if she’d assaulted him. No such thing had happened, of course, but her point had been made. So he just stared, miming offense, a single step away from a glare. But Kagura had no such reservations: she glared openly, the sight no less fierce despite her loose robes.

“Stop it.”

Now he was glaring.

“Stop what?”

“Stop pushing me away.”

A muscle in his jaw jumped and he let his hand fall, a single brow arching high in skepticism. 

“I was rather under the impression that you were the one doing the pushing, just now.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Shut up. You’re embarrassed and now you’re taking it out on me. Knock it off.”

“Embarrassed?” he laughed dryly, his humor incredibly black. “You must have me mistaken for someone else.”

“Then lay back down.”

A pause. A breath.

“No.”

Kagura, fully aware of how she must look trapped between his legs, splayed out underneath him with her hair askew and breasts practically spilling out of her thin robes, crossed her arms underneath them in spite. His eyes remained stubbornly on her face. 

“I told you,” she said flatly, completely genuine. “I won’t put up with your shit, this time. I’m here to be with you. I’m not just a body to have sex with.”

He said nothing, but his expression quickly rearranged at her words. It fell into something flat, carefully crafted to control his emotions.

“You’re not just a body to have sex with,” he said plainly, repeating her words. From him, she knew it was meant to be an assurance.

“Then stop acting like I am.”

Putting some of her anger aside, she huffed, but didn’t uncross her arms. Her partner never once looked away from her, locked on to her every word.

“I don’t care if you groan like a woman when I touch your back, Sesshomaru—”

“I _do not_ —”

“You do, and it doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

His brow set in an angry furrow but Kagura didn’t care about that, either. At least he’d shut the hell up. “Either you swallow your damn pride sometimes, or I’m done,” she warned. “I was serious then. I’m serious now.”

“I know.”

“Then act like it.”

She was done with the on-and-off cycle they’d fallen into. He knew that. He was tired of it, too. But even after all this time, he still found it hard to open up and be genuine with her. Be open. Honest. Vulnerable. 

After a tense moment, he seemed to come to understand what he’d done and sagged with the realization, the tension in his physique suddenly evaporating. With a tilt of his head that seemed very much like a sigh, Sesshomaru tipped over and fell onto his back, closing his eyes. Their hair tangled in a layered mess of silver and mahogany-black strands. 

“You caught me off guard, is all,” he eventually murmured, reaching up and pinching the bridge of his nose. “…I’m tired, Kagura.”

From anyone else, that might’ve been an escape. A dismissal. But from him, it was an admission; a shared truth.

“I know.” Her voice was calmer now, matching his as she rolled onto her side and placed her hand on his chest, shaking her hair out and pinning her cheek against her other fist. Her jade earrings swayed lightly in the candlelight. “So roll back over. Let me help.”

He wasn’t forgiven, but there was some hope yet.

“Kagura…”

“Roll - back - _over,_ ” she insisted.

Sesshomaru cracked an eye open with a long-suffering expression, letting his hand fall aside. He must’ve been searching for an escape, a way out of this uncomfortably intimate moment, but when he found none in her ruby gaze he conceded his defeat. As he always did.

“…I do not groan like a woman,” he grumbled, but then he was over on his stomach, the battle abandoned. Kagura shook her head with a wry turn of her lips. 

“Yes you do, you stubborn old dog.”

So she started all over again, climbing on top of him and kneeling over the backside of his hips, hovering there as she worked her hands over his shoulders until he relaxed again. She repeated her same path, her same paces, until her own heart finally steadied and she felt him calm down to a simmer, buzzing beneath her palms. Five minutes passed, then ten, then fifteen— and then her hands were trailing down his spine, back towards his markings, and she soothed him with a few comforting strokes when he prickled.

“Stop being dramatic.”

“I’m not—” she pressed the pads of her thumbs on the peaks of his markings, leaned over and in, pressed down, “— _ngh._ ”

“Shut up and relax,” she murmured, sitting back a little too far and resting flat against him, bare skin against bare skin as her hands slid down the magenta paths of his skin. Now she wished he was asleep so he couldn’t feel the damp curls pressed against his skin. 

But he could.

Imagining she needed to take revenge for whatever stupid smirk was probably on his face, she kept pressing her fingers along his markings, making his muscles jump beneath her hands. Trailing up and down, back and forth, over and in. Teasing that sensitive spot a few times over just to get a rise out of him.

Her gaze flicked up over his shoulder, catching the sight of copper eyes against the candlelight. There was a particular quirk to his brow, a question in his gaze. Was he forgiven?

Was he, indeed.

Kagura leaned up, stretching across his back and pressing her body flush against his, covering him like a blanket before she pressed a warm kiss to his shoulder. He was relaxed. Maybe she couldn’t get him to fall back asleep, but this was more than satisfactory.

“You’re impossible,” she whispered. He rumbled beneath her, the warmth of his contentment incredibly infectious.

“That’s not a complaint.”

She rolled her eyes but moved with him as he turned, letting him wind his arm around her waist and pull her down onto the futon. This time she was happy to let him drape his forearm over her waist, hook his claws around her and pull her halfway under his body, wedging her under his shoulder so he could kiss her neck. It wasn’t inherently sexual, but the question was lingering there. 

For a while she just let him kiss her. Right now his affections were soft, less demanding than usual, probably meant to be some sort of apology. It was nice. But eventually, she did encourage him: moaning a little, wriggling, weaving her fingers in his hair until he moved over her, catching her lips in a hungry, blissful kiss. 

“That’s better,” she whispered against his cheek, leaning in to catch his bottom lip between her teeth and nibble. He pulled away with a breathy chuckle, pressing warm kisses along her jaw.

“I’m forgiven, then?” he murmured. 

“Only if you actually sleep, after,” she bargained. One of his hands drifted to the sash that was doing a fantastically poor job of keeping her robe closed. 

“After what?”

“Oh…” When his hand skirted up her ribs, beneath the silk to palm her breast without complaint, he already had his answer. “I think that’s up to you.”

With a smile, he kissed her again.

“As you say.”


	2. The Gallery, Part 1 [Toga/Izayoi - G]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Toga/Izayoi  
> Rating: G  
> Archive Warnings: None  
> Story Guide: This story takes place shortly before the events of [Wicked Games, Chapter 11.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703876/chapters/67806379)  
> Other Credits: [@heavenin--hell](https://heavenin--hell.tumblr.com/) helped me plot this mess and deserves half the credit. <3

Toga was already counting down the minutes until the end of this tedious, headache day when Izayoi decided to ruin his Friday night. 

> _Remember, gallery tonight. Won’t be home until late._

Ignoring whatever Kirinmaru was saying - something about loyalty and trustworthiness, how he’d been enraged upon waking to find the world crawling with hanyo - Toga frowned down at his screen. Typing back an obligatory ‘ _yes_ ’ and ‘ _good luck,_ ' he reigned back a sigh, tilting his head against his fingers. He hadn’t forgotten, exactly; but was it really _this_ Friday night? _Tonight?_

Kirinmaru called his name and he grunted something neutral, tossing his cell phone up on the desk and kicking up his ankles to a cross. Leaning back in his chair, he massaged the crease in his brow and pointed his comments towards his desk phone.

“What’s done is done, Kirinmaru,” he said, “And we can’t exactly turn back time, now, can we?”

Though he wouldn’t put it past the old bastard to try.

* * *

With Izayoi’s schedule booked for the night, Toga found himself at a temporary loss. Lingering in his office well past business hours, he stared up at the ceiling and tried, for perhaps the hundredth time, to decide what to do with himself. For months now, his weekends had belonged to her. He could scarcely remember what he’d done in the times before. But he couldn’t exactly attend an event at her side—and even with a concealment charm, the risk wasn’t worth taking.

Counting the seconds that were ticking by, he felt more restless in this human form than he had in a while. He could go to her penthouse anyway, he supposed; he had a key. But by the time he arrived she would already be gone, and she wasn’t keen on anyone - even him - being unattended in her home. And though he knew he’d be welcomed into her bed when she returned, the thought of waiting that long was equally unappealing.

After a few long weeks of limited contact and distracted weekends, he didn’t want to consider waiting as an option. Yes, he understood that these events took time to prepare. She’d given him as much attention as she could. But he was also greedy—and possessive, to a fault. It was bad enough having to suffer the requirements of their secrecy; he didn’t blame himself for being selfish when it came to wanting her time.

But still…

Putting his heel on the buzzer that would call his assistant’s desk, he smirked as the beginnings of an idea brewed in his mind. It was likely one that would earn him plenty of trouble, he knew. But when had he ever cared about that?

“Kagura?”

Her voice came back quickly enough, eternally long-suffering. She likely wanted to go home at this hour.

“Yes?”

“Find me an art showing tonight,” he said, “I think it’s time we found some new investments.”


	3. The Gallery, Part 2 [Toga/Izayoi - E]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Toga/Izayoi  
> Rating: EXPLICIT  
> Archive Warnings: None  
> Story Guide: This story takes place shortly before the events of [Wicked Games, Chapter 11.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703876/chapters/67806379)  
> Other Credits: [@heavenin--hell](https://heavenin--hell.tumblr.com/) helped me plot this mess and deserves half the credit. <3

After months of preparing, the gallery was finally open.

Izayoi stood amongst her peers and held a glass of champagne to her lips, smiling softly at some compliment a guest was paying her. But contrary to her calm façade, she felt like a broken clock on the inside; everything in her chest was wound impossibly tight, as if every gear had been turned and jammed against the next. She should be unwinding. She should be _relieved._ But instead she was tense and nervous, like she always was, watching people pick apart her artwork. Wondering if anyone would think it was worth buying.

It was a silly thing to worry about, she knew. Something always sold. But it was less a matter of the money and more a matter of the value— _her_ value, which all these guests were currently scrutinizing, judging her soul through every brushstroke and color she’d left on the canvas. It was enough to rattle her even when she was in her element, schmoozing with donors and collectors alike. 

Tapping her fingers against the stem of her glass, Izayoi drifted from one group to the next, making idle chatter as she went. She moved through the dimly lit gallery like a shadow in the dark, dressed in all black in a subtle attempt to stand out from the crowd of glittering socialites. Where they wore skirts and dresses, she wore a tailored pantsuit that cut fashionably short above her ankles—and, more stunningly, a lace bustier beneath her blazer. Revealing though it was, the corset-like top spoke more towards runway fashion than anything else; enough to draw the eye and illicit interest, but not enough to cause scandal. 

Within this matte, sleek ensemble, there was only one piece that glittered: a pair of stunning sapphire earrings that dangled long from her ears, their glittering gems set in white gold and matched with diamonds that sparkled like nighttime stars. They were a gift from a certain someone— a certain someone that she couldn’t stop thinking about. 

Even now, in the midst of all this, Toga was still on her mind.

Breezing between human and yokai patrons alike, Izayoi thought of him. A small, sentimental part of her wished he could be here - that _they_ could be here, together - but the more rational part of her was content to just think about what might come tomorrow. She’d gotten far too accustomed to their weekends together. Though only six months had passed, she could scarcely remember the times before; or the men before, for that matter. Ridiculously, he had become the center of her world.

She liked to imagine that she might be the center of his world, too.

Slipping away from the crowd for a moment to refill her glass, Izayoi made idle chatter with the bartender — an unassuming man with green eyes and ruby hair, who looked about as dangerous as a baby fox, or maybe a teenager. But Izayoi wasn’t deceived; she’d watched this man effortlessly toss Takemaru out on his ass not two hours ago, completely unbothered by his rank or his ramblings. It was one perk of being yokai, she supposed. As long as you minded Toga’s rule, you could get away with almost anything.

She was halfway through a teasing comment about how none of the old wives could stray long from the bar when Miyuki came hurrying up to her side, clutching her tablet between white knuckles.

“Izayoi-sama!” It was with hushed urgency that her assistant barreled into her conversation, looking a little frazzled. Izayoi’s heart stuttered in her chest on reaction alone—but she steadied herself, her fingers flexing only lightly against her glass.

“What is it?” 

“Er—uhm, there’s a—uhm— Well,” she said with some finality, as though she’d finally gathered her thoughts. “The Inu no Taisho is here.”

Izayoi’s heart stopped. Miyuki was still talking - something about him not having an invitation, but how security had panicked and let him in anyway - but she barely heard a word of it. The atmosphere in the room had already shifted. She didn’t need to look to know her assistant was telling the truth— Toga’s presence was about as subtle as the Emperor’s, or perhaps the Queen of England’s. He was daiyokai royalty, for all intents and purposes; and the hush that fell around the room was befitting to his station.

Tempering herself and taking great care not to look anything but appropriately shocked, Izayoi dared the glance she knew she had to take.

And for the first time since meeting him, she felt downright scandalized.

Toga stood in the entryway of the gallery with an air of absolute confidence, impassive as he received the respectful greetings from those who had immediately gone out of their way to acknowledge him. It was a display she had seen plenty of times before; Toga was a king, in his way, and his people were expected to recognize that. Even humans bowed their heads to him, however briefly. But what she wasn’t used to seeing was this attitude of nonchalance; his hair pulled back into a casual, middle-high ponytail that gleamed silver in the dim light; his skin glowing in contrast against a tailored all-black suit. An ensemble that suspiciously matched her own.

Ridiculously, she felt her throat go dry. Surprised at his audacity - and struggling to keep her gaze from the dipping ridges of his collarbone, prominently displayed between the unbuttoned panels of his collar - Izayoi steadied herself by taking a drink, folding one arm over the other. Even his damn pocket square was sapphire.

 _No,_ she realized. It was indigo.

“—want to do?” Miyuki finished. Izayoi blinked back into reality, doing her damndest to control her emotions. She didn’t know whether she wanted to strangle him for his recklessness or find a way to sneak him off into a dark corner.

“Nothing,” she murmured, guessing at the question. It seemed to be the right answer. “He’s not our problem.” 

It wasn’t particularly odd for him to be here, anyway. For all the tension between his kind and hers, there was a certain stereotype most daiyokai endeavored to meet: that they were all rich. It was a side effect of living as long as they did. It wasn’t uncommon for even the most modest of them to be seen investing in the arts, something that they considered a safe, respectable venture, all things considered. And as the artist, her buyers weren’t her problem — they were the curator’s mess to handle. His presence here shouldn’t draw any undue attention since there were other artists featured in the gallery; it wasn’t solely her event. 

But he wasn’t helping anything by _smirking_ at her like a god damn—

Someone slid into the bar next to her, distracting her from the wink she had absolutely _not_ seen directed her way.

“Two of whatever you have that’s worth having,” a woman said cleanly, with a tone that implied she had no tolerance for waiting. And, wisely, the bartender ignored all else for her. “For the Inu no Taisho.”

Izayoi’s fingers twitched. Forcing herself not to take another drink of her nearly empty glass, she briefly tried to make sense of this woman.

This _incredibly gorgeous_ woman.

Unfortunately, that was all Izayoi could focus on. This woman—this _demon_ woman, who carried herself with all the confidence of a Queen, was perhaps one of the most beautiful creatures she had ever seen in her life. With pale skin and a body that curved like rolling hills, she took the glasses the bartender offered her between long painted fingernails, the points of which had been manicured immaculately. Her dress was perhaps plainer than others, sewn with a fine green fabric that fell to her knees and split gently at the back, but it’s plainness did nothing except highlight her natural beauty: the hourglass cinch of her waist and the elegant lines of her neck, matched with a pair of stunning jade earrings that dripped like pearls towards her shoulders. Curls of mahogany-black hair dusted the high collar of her shirt, swaying and bouncing when she turned to leave. A folded fan hung from a red ribbon around her wrist and her lips were painted a striking shade of ruby.

Izayoi could appreciate any beauty, no matter its source. But the issue she found herself puzzling with was the fact that this woman seemed to be here with Toga.

Jealousy fluttered in her heart, irrational though it was. She knew he wouldn’t act against their agreement. The issue of his wife aside, he wouldn’t entertain any other company but her own. But had he brought a date with him as a cover? Without asking? 

Thoughtlessly pulling her phone from her blazer pocket, Izayoi found no warning texts on the lock screen. No requests. No explanations.

Tossing a small amount of caution to the wind, she glanced back at the bartender and traded her empty glass for a new one.

“Who was that?” she asked, feigning innocent curiosity. Watching the woman return to Toga’s side before they began to wander the gallery, she thought she heard the bartender chuckle.

“Kagura of the Wind,” he said plainly, as though it were obvious. “She’s worked for those old dogs as long as I can remember.” 

The relief that flooded through her was immediate—and embarrassing. _That_ was Toga’s assistant?

“I see,” she murmured, tucking her phone away again. The atmosphere of the room had risen again, everyone tittering about the high-profile patrons now browsing the gallery. 

_Well,_ she mused, leaning back against the bar. At least now she had something more interesting to focus on than her nerves.

* * *

It took him all of a half hour to find an excuse to speak with her. When Miyuki came to fetch her to speak with a “potential buyer,” as she called him, Izayoi didn’t need to be told who she meant. It was obvious. There was something about her strained smile that gave it away—a nervousness that Izayoi wasn’t used to seeing. Her assistant wasn’t easily shaken, but Toga was capable of taking even the most composed people off guard. She’d seen it happen firsthand at galas and private events alike, his mere presence knocking people dumb and starstruck.

Maybe it was simply the effect of his status, she mused. Of his charm and his pretty face. But it could also be something more instinctual, she supposed; like a fight-or-flight response, or the same stunned silence that overtook frightened does. People either engaged with him or didn’t. There was rarely any interaction in between. Even she had shied away from him, at first. But it hadn’t taken long for her to see through the mask—to notice that, above all else, he was still just a man. A powerful, predatory man, yes; but a man nonetheless.

Placing her empty champagne glass on a waiter’s tray as he passed by, Izayoi mimicked her assistant’s nervousness and made a show of smoothing down her clothes before they approached him. As stupid as that felt, she knew it was important to keep up the charade. They were supposed to be strangers. She was supposed to be her sweet, humanitarian self, and he was supposed to be an intimidating figure. A lord and ruler of demonkind. Someone that would make her nervous, or even afraid.

But instead, all she found herself thinking of was that lord subdued. Toga kneeling before her on the living room floor, dominated; his hair shining silver against the blue light of the twinkling skyline. His arms tied behind her waist, trapping him to her in a loose embrace, and his mouth between her legs, moaning against—

“Isn’t it beautiful?”

Izayoi blinked. Returning to herself, she realized they had nearly arrived to meet her buyer. Toga, of course, was the one speaking with the gallery’s curator about one of her pieces, standing in a sharp profile against the dim lighting. His assistant was nowhere to be seen, so Izayoi dismissed hers as well—and didn’t fail to miss the way his expression shifted when he realized she was near, the slightest smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes,” he answered the curator, eyes slanting towards Izayoi in a cutting, playful glance. “It really is.”

* * *

He was laughing when she shoved him up against the wall in the private gallery.

“Are you going to kiss me or kill me?” he teased. Izayoi considered strangling him. For fun.

“Both.”

For the last hour, they’d pretended at being strangers. The curator had taken them from one painting to the next, making pleasant conversation all the while, managing to keep her cool while she tried to sell to one of the most powerful men in the world. Toga had played his role as a wealthy patron with an unnerving sort of grace, needling her with questions about her technique and inspirations—even though she knew for a fact that he couldn’t care less. But she answered each question with ease, pretending that this was, in fact, the first time they were meeting, and that he was just another wealthy donor in the crowd, willing to shell out money towards causes he wouldn’t otherwise support.

And it all went perfectly well until he stopped in front of the one portrait she’d been trying to avoid this entire time.

The portrait of _him_.

It wasn’t a likeness of his face—she wasn’t that stupid. In fact, the portrait didn’t feature anything identifiable about him. It was only a study of his back, standing out starkly among a collection of her golden, half-dressed”. women and flowering gardens. Most viewers didn’t seem particularly enthralled by it in comparison, but - _of course_ \- it stopped Toga dead in his tracks. 

Izayoi kept her calm as he studied it. This rendering of him sat on the edge of a bed, painted against a messy backdrop of shadows and wide brushstrokes. It was a palette of blacks and blues that framed the golden tones of his skin—a canvas swimming in the dark, shadowed against the dreary light of early morning. His sculpted silhouette was stretching, a body slowly waking and shedding the shroud of sleep. Black hair brushed along the back of his neck, a few strands lingering over the thread of a necklace chain. The hand that was extended across the back of his neck, massaging stiff joints, was drawn with blunted claws, every ridge and line of his hand contoured with care. It was Toga, as a human.

But even with that mortality considered, the eternal marks of his heritage remained.

They weren’t his markings, of course; not exactly. The pattern was different, nonsensical in its design. One might be able to make the connection between the scars of a flogging and what had been etched here, but the golden lashes were spread far too wide to draw an obvious parallel. It wasn’t as though he’d been punished—it was as if there were small slivers of his soul bared to her, the eternity hidden underneath his skin highlighted in delicate etches of gold leaf. He was inhuman and unnatural. Precious and barely attainable. So incredibly different from her, but walking among mortals in his human guise.

To her, it was an incredibly revealing piece of art. She had never expected him to see it, so she hadn’t withheld any of her thoughts while committing his image to canvas. Here were her vulnerabilities, her insecurities. The worry that he was always just a step away from turning his back on her, eternal where she was temporary. Ethereal where she was plain. Forever just out of reach, lingering on the edge of leaving...

And now she was left to wonder if he could interpret any of that for himself.

Whether he could or couldn’t was a mystery for another time. Because instead of trying to pry any answers out of her, he simply bought the painting without preamble, making the order and startling the curator to further excitement. 

“Perhaps you’d like to view our private gallery, then?” she’d said, and that had been the end of their game. Whatever she’d tried to sell him on next was already forgotten—all that mattered now was that they were alone in that private gallery, left to converse without the curator, and there wasn’t a security camera in sight. 

Before he could say anything else to rile her, Izayoi hauled herself up against his chest, hands firmly fisted on his open collar as she crashed her lips against his. He met her readily - hungrily, even - but his hands remained dutifully aside, waiting for permission.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” she demanded, reaching up with one hand to thread her fingers against his nape. She tugged his hair lightly, loving the soft groan that followed. She could be annoyed about him buying the painting later.

“Can I touch you?” he asked instead.

“Answer me, Toga,” she warned, using that voice that always made him tense. She watched the muscles in his jaw jump, feeling a pang of adoration at the sight. 

“It wasn’t planned,” he answered honestly. “I thought I would surprise you.”

“Surprise me, hm?” she repeated, eyes flicking down to the crease of his lips. “Well… consider me surprised.” Stealing a kiss and dragging his bottom lip between her teeth when she parted, she eventually gave him the nod he wanted. “You can touch me.”

His hands immediately flew to her hips, arching her flush against his body as he fell back harder against the wall. Something clattered to the ground beside them, but here in this private gallery they didn’t need to worry about cameras. They only needed to mind their volume. And though Izayoi had never considered herself an exhibitionist, the idea of shoving him onto a table and tormenting him here had a certain allure.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a deep rumble. With a firm squeeze to her hips, he added a quick, “ma’am.”

She hummed, feeling bright at the sound of his deference. With her thoughts racing towards what might be coming next, she bought herself some time with questions.

“Why, then?” she asked, sliding her hands down to the buttons of his shirt and carefully picking them apart, exposing the lines of his chest one by one. “Why come at all?” 

“I’m not allowed to support you?”

Seeing how his eyes were fixated on the curve of her neck, following the gentle sway of the glittering earrings he’d bought for her, she barely managed to conceal her smirk. “If you want to kiss me at all tonight, you’d better stop deflecting.” 

Parting the open panels of his shirt, she drifted her fingertips over the ridges of his abdomen. His body tensed beneath her touch, the ladder of his abs fluttering tight. 

“My time… This time,” he managed, sucking in a breath when she pulled the ends of his shirt free, slipping her fingers over his belt buckle, “is yours. I didn’t intend to spend it idle.”

“So you came to me?” she gathered, tugging the belt loose and working at the buttons of his trousers.

“Yes.”

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yes.”

“You couldn’t stay away?”

“I couldn’t—” His answer died abruptly when her hand dove within the trappings of his pants, palming him generously. The way his hips tilted against her touch had her smiling, biting a kiss along the exposed ridges of his shoulder.

“You can kiss me,” she breathed, rewarding him. She’d barely tipped her neck aside before his lips found her pulse, kissing that spot she so rarely let him attend. It had her fingers trembling and her toes curling inside her red-soled heels, a veil of electric light buzzing underneath her skin. She simmered in that sensation until she remembered herself, feeling his girth twitch readily against her palm.

“Did you miss me?” she whispered, stroking him hard. His groan sputtered in the curve of her neck. “Couldn’t stand a few hours without me?”

“Izayoi—”

“Ah-ah,” she sang, warning him. His fingers flexed on her hips, denting into her clothing. 

“Ma’am,” he corrected himself. She kept a slow, languid pace over his silken skin, massaging him to rise in this public setting—private though it was. 

“Did you miss me?” she repeated, turning her lips to brush against his ear. Slipping her free hand beneath his shirt and jacket, she skimmed her fingernails across the sculpted plane of his deltoid and down his arm. “Why did you really risk coming here, hm? Without an invitation? Dressed like this?” She smiled, nipping his earlobe. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

“No… yes,” he grunted, tipping his chin down. “I missed you.” 

Following her lead and reaching up to press her blazer back, he pressed warm kisses across her bare shoulder, letting the black fabric fall to hang around her elbows. He wouldn’t leave marks on her without permission, but that didn’t stop him from setting her skin afire with every kiss and scrape of his fangs. “And… _ngh._ ”

Sliding her thumb over the sensitive tip of him, she pretended at nonchalance when he groaned against her skin. She let his forehead fall against hers, entranced by the sight of his submission.

“And?”

“And,” he ground out, gold eyes half-lidded when they found hers, “is it so hard to believe I’d want to be here with you?”

That, more than anything else, was able to penetrate her heady thoughts. Sobered somewhat by this, she stared back into his honey eyes, considering his words. Recognizing yet another oppressive, unfair facet of their secret life: their inability to share in each other’s lives.

For the past month he’d been watching her worry over tonight. He’d helped her review documents and orders before she’d sent them along to her planner; he’d patiently waited for her to be done with after-hours phone calls and texts, never once complaining when his time with her was interrupted. When she’d asked him, he’d even given his opinion on her collection, occasionally managing to sneak a glance of her working on her newer paintings. It was a natural thing for a partner to do; to help. But at the end of it all, she hadn’t even been able to invite him to the showing. Not because she didn’t want him to be there, but because they couldn’t risk such a connection drawing them together. Vague though it might’ve been, it was evidence— evidence they could not afford.

So he’d taken matters into his own hands, instead.

Feeling her heart blooming in her chest, swelling like her breasts against the edge of her bustier, she stole his mouth into hers, sliding her free hand up to his jaw and dragging him down into her. He groaned hungrily in response, hips flexing thoughtless against her touch as she increased her pace.

“You big softie,” she whispered against his cheek, teasing. But before he could protest, she busied him with another short kiss, not wanting him to ruin the moment. He was panting when she parted. “I’m glad you decided to come.”

Maybe they couldn’t share tonight publicly, but a rendezvous here in the dark was as good as any. A celebration shared in private was better than no celebration at all.

Remembering herself when his eyelids fluttered shut, she bit her bottom lip, thinking forward.

“You’ve been patient, haven’t you?” she eventually said, turning to headier thoughts. He leaned into her, breathing deep. “And I’ve been distracted. I owe you a reward, I think…” When he bucked against her hand, her fingers slipped to the base of his shaft and she laughed softly, excited somewhat by the length that had jutted past her grip. He was aching, now. Throbbing and searing against her palm.

“I,” he muttered lamely, without purpose. Izayoi ignored him, enjoying the sight of him really beginning to lose control. It was a beautiful thing, she thought — he always played coy with his _pleases_ and _thank yous_ at the beginning of a game, but once he started to lose his sense of self he always melted to putty in her hands.

“Enough, dearest,” she whispered, kissing the point of his indigo stripe, “No more talking.”

He grunted his acknowledgement and she kissed him for his silence, fitting one of his legs between both her own and grinding against the toned planes of his thigh, trying to relief from her own building passions. The friction there was pure bliss, but she knew it was a fruitless venture. As much as she’d like to ride him senseless, there were too many yokai around. Someone might see or hear— or worse, smell. Her pleasure would have to wait until this gallery was done. But until then…

Withdrawing her hand from down low, he was left bereft for only a moment before she slipped down his body, leaving a warm trail of kisses from his neck to his sternum, traveling down low to the hard planes of his abdomen. Finding the cool tile flooring with her knees, she kissed along the ridge of his waistband, pulling the zipper fully down as he tipped his head back against the wall. This wasn’t an activity she entertained often, preferring to use it as a well-earned reward— and, in part due that rarity, he was already overhard by the mere sight of her on her knees. Scarcity drove demand, after all; and his demand had him tense, twitching, and tented when she’d done nothing more than touch his legs. 

Izayoi watched him balance on that point of trepidation, precariously tempered and driven half-delirious. Though somewhat sympathetic to his tribulations, she wasn’t encouraged to show him any mercy, her movements slowing as she slipped her fingers over his waistbands and slowly - painstakingly - tugged them down inch by inch.

When he finally sprang free of his trappings, she felt her throat go dry.

“Now,” she whispered, leaning forward without a second’s hesitation to kiss his broadside and taking him in hand, continuing her previous ministrations. Veins pulsed in profound ridges underneath her thumb. “I can’t exactly leave this room looking like you just had your way with me, can I? So consider this a preview…” She paused to take his velvet-soft tip in her mouth, swirling her tongue generously across it and loving how his breath hitched and his hips clenched. “Listen to me. After I’m through with you, you’re going to take your purchases and leave. You’re going to go home…” The fingers of her free hand clenched against his thigh before sliding up and around, guiding his hips forward and brushing over indigo stripes as she went. “...and wait for me. Do you understand? Tell me you understand, Toga.”

“I understand,” he grit out, clenching one fist at his side and trying to find some use for the other, holding loosely to his own hip. Izayoi smirked at the sight.

“You can touch my hair, if you want.”

And his hand immediately went for her, fingers lacing in her hair and pressing softly against her scalp as she dipped into him, licking and sucking at her leisure. In the interest of not smearing her makeup and looking like she’d snuck off with the Demon King to give him a blowjob, she refrained from doing so, but that didn’t stop her from kissing him—from warming him, wetting him, and stringing him out on the soft sensations of pleasure, guiding him along the path to climax with her hands. When he was well beyond engorged and muttering thoughtless thank yous, driven to delirium and gripping her hair without intent, she prepared herself for his end—

—and met it readily, taking him into her mouth to save them both from any suspect stains on black clothing.

Now that— _that_ was something she didn’t do for just anyone.

Humming against the salt-sweat taste in her mouth, Izayoi kissed him clean before rising to her feet again, placing her hands on his chest as it heaved, watching him drift inward in the aftermath. Waiting for him to return to his mind, she fixed his disheveled bangs and buttoned his shirt, pulling his jacket back over his shoulders and putting his pants to rights. 

“What are you going to do now, Toga?” she asked, steadying him. She had no intentions to break their scene. Wanting him to yearn, she maintained her air of control, knowing that if she could keep him in this headspace, however slightly, he would stew in desire until she came back home. The anticipation could keep him company while they were apart. “Come back to me…”

“Going to go home,” he murmured, somewhat thickly. She kissed the corner of his mouth, smoothing out the wrinkles of his jacket. “Wait for you.”

“Yes, exactly. Good boy.” 

His eyes flashed with thinly-veiled annoyance and she smirked, gripping his collar to kiss him again. He deepened it for as long as she would allow, chasing the taste of himself out of her mouth. Turning her against the wall, Toga latched his hand firmly into the small of her back, aligning her smaller body against his.

“I’ll go,” he said, sounding more present. She twined her arms behind his head, watching the stripes on his cheeks settle back to their normal size. “But tell me something first.”

She tilted her head to welcome his question, watching his lips and squeezing her thighs shut to distract herself from her own needs. Maybe she would be the one tormented with anticipation...

“What is it?” she wondered.

“You wanted me here too, didn’t you?”

Taken a little off guard, her expression twitched slightly, edging more towards surprise than anything else. But eventually it relaxed—and so did she, hanging off him slightly in a way she knew he liked. Leaning up on her tip-toes, she pressed a chaste kiss to his lips.

“Of course I did.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Part 3 coming soon_
> 
> **Art!**  
> [](https://heavenin--hell.tumblr.com/post/641517153958428672/a-little-teaser-based-on-loveyou-x3000s-side)  
>    
> [Art by @heavenin--hell, click here for full image!](https://heavenin--hell.tumblr.com/post/641517153958428672/a-little-teaser-based-on-loveyou-x3000s-side)


	4. The Gallery, Part 3 [Toga/Izayoi - E]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Toga/Izayoi  
> Rating: EXPLICIT  
> Archive Warnings: None  
> Story Guide: This story takes place shortly before the events of [Wicked Games, Chapter 11.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27703876/chapters/67806379)  
> Other Credits: [@heavenin--hell](https://heavenin--hell.tumblr.com/) helped me plot this mess and deserves half the credit. And thanks to [@fawn-eyed-girl](https://fawn-eyed-girl.tumblr.com/) for looking over this chapter for me!

He left first. After drenching himself in a fresh layer of cologne and stealing one last kiss, he was gone, looking as perfect as he had when they’d first slipped away from the crowd. His parting gift was a small bottle of perfume for her—which, ridiculously, made her want to blush, though she managed to reign in that urge in front of him. He’d been planning this. Or expecting it, at least, and had prepared accordingly for the aftermath. 

_Smug bastard._

Once he was gone, Izayoi was forced to suffer through the rest of the night alone.

It took too long to get away from the venue. Too long to get home, to ride the elevator up to her floor, and to fuss with the lock when she arrived. It wasn’t that she was driven mad by the anticipation, or anything. It was that she _missed_ him. Her preparations had put a gentle wedge in their relationship, and now that was over. He deserved to enjoy the emotional high of the gallery just as much as she did. After weeks of stress, she wanted to share in the relief with him.

And, of course, she wanted to thank him for suffering with her.

Pushing open the door and kicking her shoes carefully aside, Izayoi padded barefoot through her dark living spaces and went straight back to her room, bypassing everything else without a second glance. It wasn’t often that she had anyone to come home to. Even though she’d entrusted Toga with a key to her home, she didn’t often allow him to be here alone—not out of any lack of trust, of course, but simply because she valued her privacy as much as he valued his. But nevertheless, he did end up in her bed without her from time to time.

And whenever he did linger here alone, he always made sure she didn’t regret it.

Trying her best to be quiet as she walked down the hall, Izayoi found the master bedroom door left ajar, gentle light filtering out from within. She knew he had probably heard her coming, but that didn’t stop her from making an effort to silently open the door, leaning against the frame as it slowly swung open to reveal the man lounging in her bed.

The shirtless, silver-haired lord she called her lover.

He looked exquisite. Even after all this time, after all her exposure to him, he still took her breath away when she least expected it. There he was, just reclining on a mountain of pillows, minding his own business, and all she could see was the strange beauty of him: how the stripes on his shoulders cut across his skin like lightning scars, and how the indigo markings on his wrists shifted and smoothed with every minute movement of his hands. His silver hair gleamed in thin ravines over his chest, like tiny streams diverged from a large river, falling in winding, twisting paths down his body. Or perhaps their paths looked more like the dark veins of stone through marble, she thought, because he _was_ statuesque in his perfection—carved and chiseled with an otherworldly beauty that she could never hope to attain.

And somehow, despite how perfect he was, despite all their differences, he was still hers. All his beauty, all his strange thoughts—all hers.

Gold eyes glimmered in the dim light and Toga smiled, folding one hand behind his head. Briefly, she noted he’d changed his trousers for the sweatpants he kept in the drawer she’d set aside for him.

“And?” he asked, tilting his head and raising an eyebrow, pretending to be oblivious to her ogling. “How did it go?”

Izayoi smiled a little, leaning against the doorframe and folding her arms under her breasts. When his gaze flicked down to appreciate the sight, she barely veiled her amusement.

“Well... your influence didn’t go unnoticed.”

“Oh?” he chuckled. “And what influence would that be?”

She managed not to roll her eyes. “Don’t play dumb,” she teased, pushing up off the wall. Peeling away her blazer in a slow, purposeful movement, it wasn’t long before she was moving to join him on the bed, letting the black jacket fall aside as she laid down and propped herself up on one elbow. “Every artist you bought from was suddenly in very high demand.” 

“Ah,” he murmured, smug. “How curious.”

“Yes,” Izayoi purred in response. “How curious.” With a small smile and a shift of her body over his, she took a kiss from his lips. He melted into it easily, carefully - cautiously - placing his hands on her back when she drew close enough. 

“So you sold everything?”

“I did,” she murmured, slowly pulling herself further on top of him, slipping one of his legs between both of hers. With a smirk, he bent that knee flush up against her and she laughed softly, threading her fingers through his hair. “But not all my debts are settled.”

“Hm?” he hummed, rather vaguely. Ridiculously, the sound made her tingle all the way down to her toes and she found herself leaning harder into him, dragging his hair up through her fingers and using it to pull him close, dragging him further into her kiss.

“Kiss me,” she told him, arching her chest plush against his and loving the sensation of their closeness. His fangs scraped against her bottom lip and she shivered, entranced by the sensation. “Just kiss me, Toga.”

So he did. With a gentle, rumbling “yes, ma’am,” he was tipping her onto her back, holding her waist as she settled snugly against his thigh, wrapping her arms around his neck to trap him close. Izayoi pressed soft kisses to his lips in bursts of three, deepening each until she wasn’t able to part from him except to breathe, leaving biting marks on his neck in the times between. And he did the same, kissing whatever part of her she allowed, holding her close and smirking when she smiled, more than happy to enjoy the taste of her. Kissing like young lovers, a strange softness settled over them, somewhat foreign to both of them. This was… slow. Warm. Smooth and smothering, chasing over them in a wave that felt like fluttering silk.

And when they found themselves breathless, neither of them seemed overly eager to press on.

Laying with her in this soft moment, Toga traced the backs of his knuckles over her cheek, tucking back a wild strand of her hair and letting his claws slip around her ear to brush against one sparkling earring. She felt like she was drunk on him, buzzing with an intoxication that was purely artificial as he stole another kiss from her swollen lips. There was an ache simmering deep in her belly and a blush on her chest that felt like fire, but she didn’t see any need to chase her desires just yet.

“Can I ask you a question, ma'am?” he murmured, reaching out to pull her in closer. She tilted her head at the request, wiggling her hips more snugly against him. 

“What is it?”

“That painting,” he whispered, drifting his hand over the curve of her hip. It felt so strange to still be wearing clothes. “Will you tell me about it?”

It was enough to dampen the mood. But she did her best not to let that show, biting the inside of her lip before she shrugged, pulling him in close again for another kiss. A distraction, hopefully.

“What about it?” she murmured, reaching around to pull apart the clasp of her bustier, slowly beginning to pull down the zipper—and smirking when his fingers twitched at the sound of it sliding. “Don’t like being my muse?”

“Mm,” he grunted, non-committal. But he seemed somewhat resolved to pursue the question, even as she tossed her top on the ground and pressed herself against him, wonderfully braless. “It seems rather—”

“It doesn’t matter what it seems like,” she whispered quickly, pushing him onto his back and bracing her hands against his pecs, straddling his hips. He stared up at her, but his eyes quickly drifted downward, entranced by the seductive sight of her breasts squeezed between her arms. “It’s just a painting.”

“Nothing is ever just a painting,” he managed, flicking his gaze back up to her. His hands settled on her thighs and she did her best not to frown, wanting him to abandon the topic. 

“Toga,” she murmured impatiently, leaning down to brush her lips against his, hovering just above a kiss. “It’s yours. Whatever it says to you is what it means.”

“...Then perhaps we should talk about what it says to me.”

Dread pitted in her stomach. Wanting to turn back time, wanting to exist only in the warmth they’d been occupying just a few moments ago, Izayoi closed her eyes and tried to temper herself. Tried to find a way to navigate them away from this perilous edge.

“I don’t want to talk about this,” she whispered, pulling up. He followed her with his gaze, the intensity of it beginning to erode away the bliss she’d been engulfed in.

“Izayoi,” he tried, but she was having none of it. Desperate to talk about anything else - to _do_ anything else - she looked away from him, fingers curling into fists against his chest. Naked though she was, she couldn’t recall a time where she’d ever felt so transparent. It was all she could do not to snap at him. Not to scream.

“Please, not now,” she begged. Knowing that her control was slipping, Izayoi forced herself towards vulnerability, hoping that a confession would be enough to dissuade him. “You were never supposed to see that painting. If you want to talk about it, we can. But… not now.” Sliding her hands up to his shoulders, she angled herself down against him, hiding her face alongside his as she planted a kiss next to his ear. His arms wound thoughtlessly around her waist. “Please. I just want to enjoy this… I missed you.” Stroking one of the markings that swept over his shoulder, she kissed his ear again. “Didn’t you miss me?”

It was manipulative, but plainly so. It would be nothing for him to ignore it. But instead of pressing the issue forward, he only turned his head to press a kiss against her cheek, finally conceding to her pleas. With a rumble in his chest, he nuzzled into her hair.

“Of course I did.”

Relief swept through her in an instant. Humming with it, teeming with the warmth that was quickly spreading back through her veins, Izayoi breathed deep, managing to center herself as she pulled back up. 

“Later,” she promised. He nodded and propped himself up on his forearms, letting his hands fall away from her in a gentle display of submission. But he stayed close, not wanting the distance between them to grow.

“Later.”

Again she kissed him, in reward and relief and so much more, and it wasn’t long until she’d dragged him up to a sitting position, letting him hold her weight as she pulled him down into her. Only once she was sure that he’d left all those feelings behind - all those questions she didn’t want to answer - Izayoi moved forward—pushing him back with a sudden shove, feeling more like herself as he fell with a chuckle. 

Falling into the small mountain of pillows and lounging beneath her with a playful glint in his eyes, Toga seemed to be doing his best to encourage further attention. But Izayoi ignored him; leaning forward against his unyielding chest, letting her breasts press plush against him, she reached behind his body to retrieve the restraints that were hidden between the headboard and the mattress—and smirked when he breathed in sharp through his nose, taking the liberty of burying his nose in her hair. 

"Wrists," she commanded. 

Though the leather shackles were more of a reminder than anything else, far too weak to even hope to restrain him, the feeling of them closing around his offered wrists made her heart flutter, an excitement brewing fast between her legs. And that he _let_ her...

Toga tested the bond out of habit than anything else, noting his range of movement. Half-sitting as he was, they only served to keep his hands at his sides, but prevented him from reaching out. Or down, as it was. Izayoi kissed him once and twice before she began that seductive retreat down his body, pulling away from one head to meet the other. Delivering on the promise she had given him in the shadows of her private gallery.

Pulling down the loose waistband of his sweatpants and revealing him without hesitation.

He groaned when she wasted no time brushing her lips along his heated skin, his half-mast soon rising fully to the occasion after a few gentle encouragements. Bent between the spread of his legs, she licked and teased him, rewarding him at her own pace. The restraints were enough to frustrate him - she’d learned the hard way that he was partial to grabbing her hair - so she didn’t draw it out too long. She didn’t deny him the warmth of her mouth or the seductive suction therein. Enjoying the knowledge that only _she_ could make him feel this way, that only _she_ could unravel him so easily, Izayoi reveled in his body and all his spasms and reactions: the way his eyes glinted when she looked up at her lips around him and _sucked_ ; the way his jaw clenched when she took him in as far as she dared; the way the muscles in his thighs tensed when she gripped his leg. With one hand on his thigh and the other massaging the base of his erection, it wasn’t long before she knew he was reaching his end—

Which was exactly when she decided to stop.

Perhaps it was cruel. But perhaps it wasn’t. Just as she felt him tensing to the point of climax, Izayoi withdrew from him completely, digging her fingernails into his leg to stave off his completion as he groaned and twitched before her. Weeping at the tip, she only had to brush her fingers along that engorged length to have his hips bucking forward, wanting the end she had just denied him. 

“Not yet,” she breathed, leaning around him to kiss the silken skin at his abdomen, her lips hovering along the ridge of the hair there. He groaned openly - wantonly - at her refusal, tugging slightly against his restraints. And though the headboard groaned, nothing gave.

As her hands rose to his chest and eventually to his shoulders, so did she, fitting her hips neatly above the searing erection that now pressed against her rear. With a grind downwards, he was suddenly slick between her folds, panting into her chest as she began to rock against him. 

Reaching out and releasing him from his bondage, she kissed him until she felt dizzy, guiding one of his hands to her breast and the other to her hip. He was quick to mold his grip against her, kneading and plucking until she was peaking against his fingers, the bounds of her flesh swelling freely between his fingers. 

He was so hard, she thought. His body had tensed to a breaking point, the banded muscles of his chest and arms straining against his own pleasure, knotted in an intricate weave that fluttered and tensed at her every touch. And that said nothing for the hardness between her legs, which seemed more inflamed that usual. Even when she denied him for weeks, he was never like this— never so aching, never so desperate. Something was different…

But whatever it was, she didn’t pay it any mind. She only teased him further, letting him buck against her and spread her wetness with his own, grinding her hips in a tantalizing swirl until the markings on his face were widening, lengthening to sharp points that always made her heart sing. She dragged her fingernails down his cheeks in long streaks, following those indigo paths with denting, harmless scratches that made him growl like a madman.

One of his hands slipped boldly behind her in response, molding to the curve of her rear and spreading her, exposing her sex in a parody of prostration. Immediately, she grabbed his jaw— and the other hand chased down his neck, dragging red stripes down his chest and all the way to his abdomen. His entire body clenched at the touch.

“What are you doing?” she breathed, watching his eyes wander indistinctly, silver eyelashes fluttering shut when she bit a kiss on the jutting ridge of his jaw. To her, he seemed to be on the edge of euphoric loss; however, it wasn’t the euphoria she was accustomed to seeing. Whatever headspace he was edging towards, it wasn’t the one he was meant to take.

And strangely, she found herself drifting the same. Neither submissive nor wholly dominant, she took control only because it felt right to; only because when he groaned, her whole body felt like weeping. 

“Sorry,” he murmured, thoughtless, and released his bruising grip on her. There was a “ma’am” muttered in there somewhere, but she didn’t care to chase it for clarity. She simply ground against him again, letting that hand that had drifted low slip between their bodies, taking him in a guiding stroke towards her core. 

“Are you?”

He leaned forward and tipped his head between her breasts, kissing in apology. She shivered as his fangs chafed against her nipples and— _oh,_ she didn’t care. She didn’t care that he hadn’t asked for permission. Drunk on the rolling power beneath his veins, she simply leaned into the wet warmth of his mouth, biting her bottom lip as he begged for mercy. Rolling her thumb over the searing sword burning in her hand, she moaned when he bucked against her again—brushing himself against her opening by chance in the process.

Accepting then and there that there was no use in drawing this out, she sheathed him inside herself at that very instant.

It was bliss. They both cried out into each other, Izayoi’s entire body surging downwards on top of him as he crashed upward into her. Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she lingered for a moment in that blossoming sensation of a first intrusion—and then rocked forward, painfully slow, not wanting him to be pressed to his end yet. 

“Don’t you dare,” she managed, feeling thoughtless herself. Letting his body hold almost all her weight, she started a long, languid pace on top of him, finding herself listless in the plunging sensation that swelled through her entire body. Impaled upon him, she moaned, rippling at the course of her own sinking thrusts. His claws descended on her hips with an iron-clad grip as he tipped backwards into the pillows, arcing against her soft body. Watching every rocking surge of her breasts and the swells of her body, Toga seemed to be losing himself. She’d never seen the stripes on his arms go so wide…

When his body tensed to a breaking point again, she slowed her pace, digging her fingernails into his shoulders again. She wasn’t ready; he couldn’t come, not yet, not—

“Hold on,” she prayed, leaning down low to bite the jutting vein that pulsed in his neck, distracting his pleasure with pain. The groan that vibrated in his chest made her gasp, the shift of his hips underneath her coaxing a new wave of pleasure forth. She moaned against his neck, biting down hard again where his muscles curved out into his shoulder—

And something entirely new rose to meet her.

There was no warning. One moment he was panting, gritting his teeth against the burden of her hips as she keened, and the next she was on her back—hauled up by powerful hands and tipped backwards, her shoulders slamming into the wrinkled sheets when he surged to his knees and lurched forward. There were claws against her back that forced her into a resplendent curve, all her skin pink and blushing, her hair swirled in onyx waves over her body and the bed. The other hand came to lay flat on her chest, the heel of his palm digging in as his long fingers closed around her throat, holding there firmly, driving her up into him at a maddening angle. Her hips settled on his thighs as he dove down, thoughtless—

_—demanding everything, dominating—_

—and Izayoi nearly choked on her own lust.

Her heart skittered in her chest. Quaking at the sudden force of his body, she barely saw the way his eyes went red under his eyelashes— barely thought of anything but the sensation of him driving into her womb, parting her so exquisitely that she thought she might burst. Had the change persisted, she might’ve had enough thought to remember their agreements, to try and fight herself away from him at the sight of his red eyes, but it faded as quickly as she noticed it. Like a flash of lighting, his ruby eyes came and went, and then there was only his hand on her throat and his aching cock inside her—and the terrible moment that came swiftly after, crashing down around them when awareness came flickering back to his gaze. 

Knowing she didn’t have a chance in the world of escaping his bruising grip, Izayoi just lay back and waited. Half strung out on her pleasure, her gasp sounded too loud in her ears when he tried to recoil from her, as though scalded by his own actions. But she reached out when he tried to pull away, bending her legs behind him to trap herself against him. His apologies were falling on deaf ears.

“No,” she gasped, shaking her head madly. Angling her hips up high against him, elevating herself to create a wonderful friction at _just_ the right spot, she bit her lip and stared up at him from below. There was something in her chest cracking. An old seal giving way. A lock clicking open and a door knob turning. “Don’t.”

At the enraging furrow of his brow, she bit her lip and bounced herself against his pelvis, shocking him out of his confusion with a wave of pure bliss. Riding him even in this position, spread out before him like a lover to be used, Izayoi found herself begging behind the guise of an order.

“Just do what you want, Toga.”

Because that was what she wanted him to do.

There must’ve been something in her voice that soothed his guilt. Some mewling tone, perhaps, or just the simple genuine nature of her request, because it took no further encouragement for both his hands to latch firmly onto her sides, claws closing over the soft flesh around her ribcage. In seconds, he was thrusting into her—or, rather, she noted, she was being thrust _onto_ him. The veins in his hands and arms were straining against his skin as he hauled her up onto his hips again and again, rocking her body against his. His gaze dripped like candle wax over her breasts as they heaved and bounced with every plunging thrust, the supple curves of her skin giving way to his lust. Gripping the sheets beside her head to give herself some leverage, Izayoi tried to match his pace, throwing herself as deeply as she could against him. Panting. Sighing. Moaning and groaning, thrumming and shuddering. He had her unraveling without even moving his own hips.

Biting down on a knuckle, Izayoi blinked away the wetness in her eyes and felt herself drifting backwards, somersaulting with every shockwave he sent through her body.

“ _Ah_ — Do you,” she tried, biting out words between every maddening slap of her thighs against him, “Do you want to come with me?” 

The sound between them was embarrassingly slick. Her thighs shook and her toes curled as he finally began to press into her every time she rocked up against him, her breasts aching with the force. Tingling, she felt euphoria begin to creep up around her heart, a helpless sort of warmth spreading like wildfire between her legs. She swirled her hips up and he stuttered out a groan, holding her tighter than he’d ever dared before. It hurt, but only in a distant way. Bruising or not, the undercurrent of pain beneath this dizzying pleasure was enough to keep her steady. 

“Do you want to come with me?” she asked again, cracking her eyes open to see his helpless nod. Fangs pricked out against his lower lip, his silver hair sweeping like a veil along his sides as he moved. Lips parted and body tight, they were both nearing the end. Teetering on the edge of a rocky cliff…

“Yes,” he eventually managed, leaning down over her when her hips kicked up against him and her thighs held fast on his sides, holding herself there with him deep inside. Tendrils of silver hair fell over her like trails of cold water. “Yes, ma’am.”

Moaning, she decided to let herself go.

“Then come with me,” she begged. Grappling against the banded muscles of his thighs, she dug her fingers into his skin and held there, tipping her head aside and letting her control slip away. In that moment, her world was so blurry that all she cared to see was him. All she cared to do was—

_Oh._

Then her thoughts spooled out when he obeyed her desperate command. Setting a new, dizzying course inside her, Toga overwhelmed her conscious mind, penetrating her with thrusts that were just as relentless as they were desperate, forcing her to hold her breath against the splendid pressure that was building inside her.

“Tell me—when you’re— _oh,_ when you’re—” 

It was a jumble of words, a mumbling mess of an order, but he understood. Forcing herself to hold back, to deny herself her own climax, Izayoi felt as though she were entirely balanced on a single point, or perhaps laying on a bed of nails. The focal point of her entire existence in this moment was him. His hands, his breath, his indigo stripes… Flexing against the tidal waves of pleasure that were threatening to break her, she cried out, unable to quash the inferno building between their sweat-slicked sex. And when he warned her, when he leaned down into her neck and put his thumb against the flaming bundle of nerves that undid her, she had nothing left to hold onto. 

They shattered together, and all the lines that had been set between them started to blur.

It felt like falling. Even though she was laid out and crying into her sheets, she felt like she was plummeting down from a great height, gone blind in the white waves of her orgasm. She could feel him around her, within her, outside of her: sputtering against her convulsions, pumping deep and holding her hips in an iron embrace. Shuddering around him, suddenly she _was_ falling— up at first, and then down, drawn away from the sheets and drawn to his chest in an easy arc. 

When her head hit his chest, his heart was thundering like a storm.

“I lost control,” he was already saying, even though it sounded like he was out of breath, “I didn’t—”

Thoughtlessly, she reached up and put her hand on his mouth. His lips immediately stilled under the brush of her fingertips and she shook her head, feeling light-headed. She’d just had what was possibly one of the best orgasms of her life and this moron was trying to apologize for it. Even though he had slid out of her, she was still fluttering inside.

“Hush,” she whispered, laughing breathily. “Just… shut up.”

This gave him pause. Looking at her with no small amount of surprise, Toga tightened his hold around her waist, fitting her nicely against his side when she scooted up to wrap her arm around his neck. Drawing him close to her, she pressed her lips to the crown of his head and dragged her fingers over his chest.

“You got a hold of yourself,” she said eventually, acknowledging his guilt. Soothing it however she could. Buzzing in her golden afterglow, she tickled her nails along the points of his indigo markings. “And you didn’t do anything I didn’t want you to do, so… Don’t you dare apologize.”

“Izayoi…”

“I can’t feel my toes,” she murmured, smirking when that softened his gaze. Reaching up to drag the backs of her knuckles over his cheek, she brushed his messy bangs away. “Or anything below the waist, honestly.”

Finally, he seemed to settle. Tipping his head against her touch, his eyelids drifted half-shut.

“Is that so?”

“Mm-hm,” she hummed, leaning down and stealing a short, sweet kiss. His mouth tasted like heaven. “I might be paralyzed.”

Toga snorted, smoothing his hand up her spine. Taking a deep breath against her skin, he nuzzled into her chest. “I suppose I’ll have to take care of you, then.”

* * *

For a time after that she simply held him, drifting her fingertips over his back in a soothing circuit, listening to his breathing as it began to even out, his thundering pulse finally rolling to a gentle thrum. She nearly fell asleep holding him, soothed by his steady presence. But it wasn’t long before she felt him shift and she cracked her eyes open to see his gentle golden gaze on her, his thumb brushing carefully beneath her eye as he cradled her face. He was rubbing something away.

Mascara, probably. She imagined she looked a mess.

Smiling faintly, Izayoi leaned into his touch. Toga watched her for a time more and she didn’t mind, simply closing her eyes against his gentle scrutiny. But then he was moving again, stirring her out of her dozing reverie. Humming softly in protest, it was Toga’s turn to shush her—his lips pressed against her temple with a rumble, arms slipping underneath her legs and behind her back. He hauled her to his chest as he stood.

“Toga?”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to. She realized his course soon enough as he padded towards the bathroom in the dark, gently sitting her down on the edge of the sink counter and dimming up the lights by a small fraction. Legs dangling off the edge, she made no effort to peel herself away from him—but when he handed her a cloth to wash herself, she did, and it wasn’t long before she found herself being groomed.

With long, careful fingers, Toga dragged a makeup wipe across her cheeks and a gentle warmth bloomed in her chest, her fingers drifting up to latch onto his wrist.

“You don’t have to,” she tried, but he shook his head. 

“Relax,” was his only answer. Ignoring her rather weak hold on his wrist, he continued to wipe off her makeup. Always mindful of his claws, it wasn’t long before he’d scrubbed away her smudged mascara and eyeliner, most of her lip color already kissed away. Izayoi simply simmered in the moment, feeling full and blurry at the same time, too tired to let her thoughts wander very far. The only thing that anchored her in the moment was the dull, pleasant ache of her shoulders and waist, leaving aside the throbbing sensation between her legs.

When he set aside the wipe, he finished washing her face with a damp cloth and then pressed his lips to her forehead, acting of his own volition. Izayoi couldn’t help her soft smile, curling her toes a little as she leaned forward and wrapped her arms up and around his neck, more than content to stay there with her forehead on his shoulder. 

After a moment, she felt his fingers brush oh-so-gently over her ribs and she tipped her face aside, opening her eyes again to get a look at what he was doing in the reflection of the mirror behind her. Toga’s gaze was locked onto her body with an intensity that could burn, his fingers drifting over a series of four evenly spaced red marks on her sides and back.

And though the sight of those blooming bruises did nothing but make her feel warm and wanted, she knew he likely wouldn’t understand.

“It’s all right,” she soothed, though not without sounding somewhat tired. Laching her fingers together behind his neck and leaning back, Izayoi hung her entire weight off of him, knowing how he liked to be used as a support. “You didn’t hurt me.”

He frowned, his gaze still laser-focused on their reflection. 

“You’re bruising.”

“I’ve bruised worse,” she promised, and that was enough to break his gaze. When she had his attention, she tilted her head aside, showing him the marks she knew were welting along her neck. “It’s all the same, dearest.”

“It’s not.”

“Hush...” Pulling him down to her, she stole a gentle, chaste kiss from his lips, hoping to soothe him somewhat. There was the slightest unspooling of tension in his shoulders, but it wasn’t enough for her liking. Twinning her arms tighter around him, she hugged herself to his shoulders, pressing their chests flush together.

“It’s your mark on me,” she murmured, leaning forward to kiss the shell of his ear and whisper sweet assurances to him. “I can see how much you wanted me…”

“Izayoi, I lost control—”

“You took control,” she said, correcting him without thinking about the implications. Without thinking about how she’d been so quick and eager she’d been to concede to him. “There’s a difference.”

That silenced him for a moment and she kissed him again, offering him what comfort she could. He seemed more amenable this time, and when she parted it was with a soft breath against his lips, hovering ever so close. 

“I love them,” she confessed, treading dangerously close to a phrase that felt like a tripwire. But she avoided it with grace, even as her heart strayed ever closer towards it. “So relax.” 

Snaking one leg around his to keep him hooked close, she teasingly fit her hips against his and smiled, looking him in the eye without a modicum of hesitation. Seeing her confidence and the genuine warmth in her gaze, his own seemed to soften. 

“If you feel like you need to apologize, draw us a bath,” she instructed, trying to give him some reprieve from his own guilty thoughts. An opportunity for penance, as it was. “You can wash me to your heart’s content, hm?”

“Hm,” he hummed in response, mimicking her. His gaze flickered downwards and his fingers were tracing over the imprints he’d left of her skin, gently ghosting the backs of his claws over her soft skin. “Love them, do you?”

She nodded and told him the truth.

“I do.”

It had been a very long time since she’d felt the urge to let someone take control of her. But in the same way that Toga’s power drew her to dominate him, to teach him and to cherish him, it also tempted her to submit to him; to give herself over to him entirely, because he’d earned her trust and submission. Whether it was a base instinct or something more, she didn’t know. But it was enough to get her thinking, and for the first time since she’d brought him into her life, that seemed like a possibility she might want to explore. 

Later. 

As with so many other things, it would have to come later.

Toga nodded once and sighed, the rest of his tension bleeding out of his shoulders. Washing away his stoic concern with the curve of a small smile, he began to peel himself from her, parting with a gentle kiss to her crown.

“A bath it is, then. Ma’am.”

And when she laughed at his wink, everything seemed right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Visit me on [Tumblr](https://loveyou-x3000.tumblr.com/ask) and let me know what you want to see next, or drop me a comment below!
> 
> [Check out the art that inspired this chapter!](https://heavenin--hell.tumblr.com/post/641592414922063872/uncensored-version-here-moonlight-what-happened) (by @heavenin--hell)


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